VERUM VISUS.

And there it is: the smile that will always pull her back to him as the moon sings the ocean back to her arms, as gravity woos the apple until it falls to the earth. She had feared for that smile, when Kou first accepted the throne. And here they are, years later, and Yuna is surprised to realize she hasn’t seen him laugh in…

She’s not sure how long. For that, she’s sorry. But her regret hardly shows when she smiles pleasantly in return, a far cry from his. There is little room in the palace for her shine. She will bend the knee and lay at the altar of the throne her crown, her heart, her brilliance.

She is the diamond they ask her to be: beautiful, sharp, hard.

“I’ve just said my farewells to Queen Daphne — whose coronation was a surprise.” The corner of her lip quirks before she adds, “For more reasons than one.” As if some small joke can bridge the chasm between them. As if a minuscule reference to their shared past can return them to the way things were.

It’s pathetic, Yuna knows.

“We’ve agreed to a partnership of sorts. A mutual investigation into the strange events at her coronations, which involve the celestials.” She pauses, wondering if she ought to apologize for speaking on the kingdom’s behalf without consulting the rightful King, or King-to-be. If she ought to apologize for making the suggestion at all, for letting her intelligence show.

This is pathetic, too. With an apologetic smile, she bows her head before her younger brother. “I know I haven’t spoken with you or with Father about this, but I wanted you to know.” With your ability, you would be imperative to the investigation; but the words stay lodged in her throat, her wicked pride yanking the chain around her neck.

But before Yuna lets her pride claim her, before she surrenders to the arrogance and insecurity warring within: “Forgive me.”

“Strange is one way of describing it.” Kou replies tartly, his mouth pressing into a hard line of annoyance and displeasure. He makes no effort to disguise his reaction to the mention of Daphne’s coronation; if Yuna’s attempt at humor doesn’t find a willing partner, it has nothing to do with his sister’s words ( — laced with delicate olive branches, ever extended in an attempt to quell a conflict neither of them wants or is willing to address) and everything to do with Kou’s resentment towards the silence from the Lunar Court.

But something in his face softens a bit as she keeps talking, eyes no longer narrowed, interest piqued. Then, satisfied. He’s impressed, but not surprised. It’s a shrewd strategic move: something Yuna excels at. Can he truly be expected to punish her for competence? Especially, an insidious voice whispers in the back of his mind, for something he hadn’t even considered?

“You think I’d ever want you to apologize for doing something clever?” Kou returns her smile then, warm and conciliatory. This is his olive branch, trying just the same as his sister to balm their chafing with offhand humor that does little to dig under the surface. “Let’s be better than that.” 

Better than our father. 

“I don’t need to tell you how valuable our relationship with Paol is, not with our shared..” Enemies? “Questions.” He’s not sure Daphne sees him still as anything other than the irritating playmate of her sister, Kou wants to blurt out, of course Yuna would be better for diplomacy with the new queen  —  but uncertainty is just as bitter a taste as the sight of her head bowed to him in contrition. 

He needs her. They need each other. 

“I have one more task for you, then,” Kou says suddenly, mind snapping forward to where his thoughts on the coronation had been focused, “The ambassadors are coming out of their hiding spot this week for the council. They know what to expect from me,” He states with a confident self-awareness, “But there’s more of a chance we can pry out something of substance if they have deal with us both.”

Camille had been nervous for Daphne’s coronation. The amount of people attending the event, specifically the lunar court in full attendance, made her a bit on edge. She couldn’t help but think about the magic she splashed on her neck, along her cheekbones, and how one realization from an angel would be the end of her. She could’ve went without it, but with so many high profile people mingling in her home she felt like she needed an extra push to help her stand out among the crowd. Perhaps no one will notice it at all, or perhaps they’ll just assume the sparkle and shine it gives her is just a trademark to the princess.

She spent the first part of the event doing her regular routine– bright smiles, exchanging kisses and touches with the more well known patrons, and talking up the summer palace for those who are less known to the woes of her nation. Her eyes would occasionally flick to the angels in all their glamour, but she did her best to focus on the mortal attendees. After all, she suspected Daphne would like to capture the attention of the angels herself. 

She went along with the routine before she felt the familiar burning creep along her neck. Camille’s nerves twitched at the feeling, and she fell back into the outskirts of the ballroom. She planned on just hanging back until the burning died down, but she spotted a certain Tsuki king-to-be watching her and she felt like she had no choice but to make her way over to him.

“Stealing ideas for your own coronation, hm?”

The night overflowed with wealth and exuberance in typical Summer Palace style, pride painted in broad strokes across the face of the Paolish people ( –  and the face for whom the celebration was for). Every Tsuki gaze their crown prince met burned with the same gleam of anticipation, the preemptive pride and excitement riled up by the event: our turn comes soon. 

Two years was an incredibly vast amount of time. Incredibly insignificant. 

Kou became intimately familiar with the refreshments being poured – it happened to work out as a pleasurable perk that nothing seemed to make the roaming circles of Paolish nobility happier than Tsuki royalty leading in a rousing toast to their new queen. Daphne, of course, received his congratulations as a matter of expectation. When Camille found him though, leaning against a column as he attempted to catch the sea breeze blowing in through the flung-open balcony doors lining the hall, the warmth in Kou’s smile had little to do with decorum. 

“If I get the chance to plan mine,” He stated with a snort, shifting to the lofty expression of someone steadfastly ignoring how little say he’d actually get in the final product as his nose wrinkled with distaste, ”Twenty people or less will be there and I’ll disappear from the Capital within the hour.”  He caught a fold in the skirt of Camille’s intricate gown between two fingers and gave it a playful tug, “So pack lightly.”

Kou gave her the order with a lopsided grin that defeated the flippancy in his voice, but his brows still drew together slightly, eyes flickering over all the cultivated loveliness of his childhood friend teetering in front of him. The princess drew light to her, she always had – but Camille’s sheen now looked more like a fever sweat than an afterglow of the country’s sun lingering on her skin. Her shoulders were drawn in close, rigid and tense. Kou trusted his eyes enough to not question the validity what he saw – but that didn’t make the question of Camille’s condition any easier to answer. Or, he thought with a flash of frustration, any easier to ferret out without her practiced, fleeting deflections.

“How much of the spectacle is your fault?” 

DATE & TIME: after the dinner with daphne LOCATION: courtroom STATUS: closed to @leokou

She’s been avoiding him.

Like a shadow in the halls, a diamond returned to its cage, Yuna has found shelter in her domain of dinners and parties, social obligations and public appearances. She is careful to stay out of his orbit: deliberations with advisers, discussions and arguments over the future of their kingdom – more his than hers, she supposes.

What can she say? I’m sorry the love of my life hasn’t given me answers yet. I’m sorry I want to be Queen, even still. I’m sorry for loving you too much to let you see my bitterness. I miss you.

It’s all dust between them.

But the conflict that simmers beneath the surface now is coming to a boil, and Yuna has already put forth a plan to contain it. Without Kou’s knowledge. She stands before him now, wondering if it’s worth mentioning – is it worth mentioning? Will he resent her for pushing back against the parameters set by their father?

She hates this. Her brilliance denied, her confidence shaken, her rightful arrogance put to a standstill for the sake of love – love for her little brother. For all of her bravado and all of her silence, Yuna is bound to the throne for the love of the boy who will sit upon it.

It’s what’s asked of her as an older sister.

“Kou,” she says, “can we speak – privately?”

When Yuna approaches him, Kou actually feels something approaching a flicker of surprise. At her request, first, and secondly at that very reaction to it. There’s a palpable undercurrent of guilt and discomfort at both of them. Has their relationship really devolved so much that an interaction like this seems like an rarity? 

The truth is that the majority of the contact Kou has gotten with her has stayed... staged. A parrying of harmless quips  to draw laughter before a banquet hall, a toast, then the inevitable retreat. 

Yuna knows the name of every one of his close companions and Kou certainly knows the names and faces of the celestial company his sister keeps, but their two circles rarely overlap beyond the festivities that rule her now. 

Or is it that the festivities are the only place where she’s allowed to rule? 

The unfairness of it stings, moreso because he knows there is no part of this injustice that he does not bear some responsibility for. But Kou certainly won’t voice these thoughts, won’t let them bleed into his expression. He replies immediately instead, “Of course,” a broad smile spreading across his face as if in emphasis, as if attempting to silently communicate to her: any time. 

It’s an easier thought than ‘please’. Far easier than ‘I miss you’. 

“Has something happened?” The question feels silly even as it leaves his mouth. That’s the second unpleasant realization (or is it suspicion?)  – what reason does Yuna have to approach him anymore if not for something critical? 

DATE: Early Aries, 998 A.L.

LOCATION: The Crystal Palace, Tsuki

STATUS: Closed for @leokou

The council meeting is to commence soon - and the ambassador has taken care to arrive early. He is seated at the front of the room, where a slit of the rising sun pours through the window to lay against his cheek, in perfect adornment. He faces the room of advisors with practiced grace: elegant and composed, stiller than a portrait. A picture of serenity.

Ryuusuke’s men have no choice but to look upon him. Some, hungrily - others, adoringly, admiringly, helplessly. This is his design. The air in the room shifts as waves of magic emanate from him. Unseen, unfelt - but palpable nonetheless. His magic is a pair of deft, thieving hands: unraveling the anxiety, smoothing out knots of distrust and resentment.

You’ve been absent, Ryuusuke’s chief advisor said to him, in lieu of a greeting.

Cedric had soothed in tones of honey, I’m here, now - and watched the strain melt from the man.

The King has not yet arrived, but his son is here. Cedric needn’t look to find the crown prince. He’s a spike in the side: pungent and sober in every room Cedric soaks down to the bone in lazy satiation. Stubbornly repellent, as always.

“Your Highness,” Cedric greets, rising to meet him. He dons his loveliest smile - the sort that, one thousand years ago, had brought men to their knees in rapture. “I’m glad to see you. How are you?”

Kou has only to take one step in the room before his suspicions are confirmed: this will be an uphill battle, and he’ll most probably be only one fighting it. Ryuusuke’s advisers are sat around the table with the ease of a boating party after luncheon, hands folded over their stomachs, grey heads nodding sagely at whispered assurances. Those who have noticed the crown prince’s entrance and acknowledged him inevitably find their gazes pulled again to the one inevitably poised at the center of this bitterly familiar tableau. 

Kou’s eyes follow. Cedric, he thinks, forever positions himself like a man internally considering the effect of his own portrait. In a room full of faces softened by relief in the angel’s presence ( – softened by the falseness shimmering over the stone floor like the heat of a mirage ), Kou finds himself having to fold away a grimace. 

Instead, he fixes in place an expression of impersonal amiability impossible to mistake for real warmth. “Cedric,” He parrots in response, “I’m well. And very glad to see you. We’d begun to think we’d been forgotten down here.” 

He can feel the weight of the eyes now fixated on he and the angel as a pair, sense the hint of trepidation (he wants) back in the air. Still, he doesn’t look away. He would stare as stubbornly into the glare of the sun itself if it would underline his point.

“Of course,” Kou’s head cocks to the side with an benign upward quirk at the corner of his lips, “I knew that couldn’t be the case, owing to the relationship between our courts. I’m sure you’ll cover today whatever correspondence we must have missed in the past two months?” 

We expect it.